The Chronicles of Edward
by FrostySeaFlakes
Summary: Edward embarks on a truely magical journey to find his true love...
1. Chapter 1

Victoria squirmed, feeling the contractions harder and more pronounced against her womb walls. A monster was about to be unleashed, and not just any kind of monster, but one who would destroy her life, sucking it slowly away like a leech. Edward was about to be born.

The conception had been appropriately filthy, an absinthe-fuelled orgy on their anniversary. "Suckle my fucktits!" she had screamed repeatedly, her legs dangling over a coffee table like a tadpole's, while daddy had fucked her systematically and cruelly. Indeed, at one point he withdrew a large cream donut and forced it into her gaping vagina, growling "eat it, bitch," with venom. It was a typical fetish of his, part of their secret, creepy life.

And now, nine months later, Mrs Cullen was feeling almost as bad as she had the morning after. Her usual drive for sex, drugs and alcohol had been extinguished, replaced by a vomit-inducing urge to squeeze this demon child out with as much gusto as possible. However, she still wanted a drink.

"Leon!" she gasped, referring to Mr Cullen, who was sitting next to her. "Bring me the fucking whisky!"

As usual pussy-whipped, Leonardo da Cullen (his parents had been on acid when they named him) reached into his bag and withdrew a full bottle, which Victoria pressed to her lips, imagining it to be her husband's penis, suckling the strong alcohol.

"I want my child to be born on a bed of _fucking_ roses!" she screamed in the general direction of one of the doctors, who nodded, pulling out one of the bouquets she had brought in with her, laying them before her widened cunt hole, which was stretched to breaking point.

Screaming, Victoria tossed the bottle of whisky (which was now half empty) across the room and against the wall, where it smashed and stuck, dripping slowly to the floor.

"One more push should do it!" the doctor shouted, the urgency intense. With one final gasp, Victoria tensed her whole body, collapsing it down, before a slimy cannonball shot right out through the roses. His skin ripped on the thorns, causing bloody marks to appear all across his body, and before anyone could catch the child, it had slammed into the back wall, against the broken whisky bottle.

"I shall call the child … Edward!" Victoria screeched, a thunderclap resounding outside on the final word, before passing out. The bemused doctor walked over to the wall, where the young Edward was already licking up the spilt whisky.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just another typical day in the mediocre life of Edward Cullen. Once again, his mother questioned him as to the absence of any self-earned income and as to why he had neglected his studies at WelTech. But little did she know that Edward was a hero, a white-haired, six-packed hero with cool clothes to boot. His chiselled body surfed the various forums of Gaia Online under the moniker 'Mokoshina' (his attempt to sound like a Japophile, but most interpreted it as a misspelling of 'mocaccino').

Moko was tired after a hard day on Gaia Towns – there was no time available to shave the somewhat wild man forest sprouting from his face like a tangled vagina. However, there could be time to slip down to the shops for maybe just two more Demon Colas before the next phase of Gaia action began. Moko was rather unhappy with life at the moment, as his previous girlfriend (Becthelost) had left him depressed and thirsty for her virtual lovetit. Days had become a meaningless blur of forums, energy drinks and spending his parents' money on various Gaia commodities. Edward snapped open another can of Demon as he purchased the 'Ravid Wings of Destruction'; a rumble in his stomach signalled it was time for lunch.

"Muuuuuum! Get me a sandwich!"

The bellow could have come from some hormonal primate such was its intense power. It was the last few minutes of Gaia action and Edward couldn't afford to leave the computer screen for even a minute.

After noisily digesting his sandwich and waving away another job opportunity from his father's business, Edward turned back to the gently humming monitor, still hungry but this time for more action. In the short five minutes of digestion, he had reached an epiphany – today was the day he was going to stop proffering his fictional flat chest to twelve-year-old 'Anime Chix'. He was going to acquire himself a girlfriend – the ultimate quest.

It was just hitting one past midday, a beautiful, radiant day outside the darkened interior of Edward's enclosed computer space as he made his periodic sign-in to Gaia Online. He knew that this was his day. Mokoshina confidently entered the Gaia slot machines, with his head high and his pants unbuckled. He was wearing somewhat extravagant gear today so as to pull in the ladies – he had to look damn good. It was the harsh but absolute rule of meeting with the opposite sex while on Gaia.

Edward saw immediately that the competition was going to be hot. Many a man had turned up to the fateful Gaia Slot Machines looking for love only to have it dashed by some other fat, retarded freak in sweatpants. He kept his eyes scanning as he inserted a single piece of pixelated gold into the machine, feeling his piece of meat swell uncomfortably in the confides of his unfashionable purple briefs as he imagined the sexy destiny that was to await him at the other end of this machine.

His joy wasn't to last for long – as he began to put on the moves, he could feel a chill entering the musty room. The wind howled like a banshee on crack. In a burst of snow and ice, a shimmering entity slid through the gap in the tiny window. He didn't have to turn away from the comforting mild heat radiating from his monitor to know that Rosalie was back, but he did anyway, in total awe of the strangely beautiful creature. (Edward wasn't sure whether it was a product of his paranoia-filled imagination or not).

He knew not what to do as the snowman-like creature approached him, its stick fingers turning to thick claws, and before he could move the creature had slammed the knife-sharp things into his forearm, groping viciously.

"Hey bitch! Rosalie here," it cackled.

Edward tried to scream, but there was no stopping the monstrosity of the Rosalie. In one movement, the figure had plunged his ice-cold, rock-hard genitals into the unfortunate Edward's gaping upper orifice.

"How d'you like that, huh?"

His attempts to retort were muffled by the tree trunk-proportioned, sharp icicle of a cock. Before he could fight back, Rosalie had tackled Edward down onto his scruffy bed, scrambling under the sheets and penetrating every opening he could find. Edward could feel himself drowning in the magical predator's icy semen …

Edward awoke in a pool of his own sweat. It wasn't the first time had experienced a Rosalie Jurtha dream – they recurred around the subject of an anonymous crank caller who went under that name and sent him increasingly vulgar texts and death threats. They had permeated his dreams quite spectacularly, making him ever more paranoid of the creep carrying out his threats to kill Edward with a cleaver and then rape the corpse.

Feeling angered, he pulled himself up to the monitor awkwardly, the glowing beacon in the middle of his now-darkened room. He was still on Gaia, but he was so disoriented that the garish colours were merging into one disturbing mess of purple. He had to let out his anger somehow. Pulling the keyboard towards his tiny chest, he typed the legend, "You cunts can all go fuck yourselves! I need to go die now!"

It was another desperate cry for attention. Going on his emo blog didn't help as nobody read the thing anymore. Depressed, and feeling his brain imploding from a lack of sleep and paranoia, he pulled a bottle of cheap whiskey out from behind his monitor in the usual hiding space – he had to hide them now as he didn't want the bitch who was his mother to take his laptop off him again. It hurt going down, but it made him feel mature to get wasted. The next step was child porn, his latest craze as adults and manga didn't get his perker up the way they used to in the early stages of his still underdeveloped, perverted puberty.

Already hardening at the prospect, he closed out of Gaia and typed in '', a page he had visited several hundred times, though his Internet history said different.

Edward's life was undeniably sad, but he was quietly confident that someday he would become something. For now, though, he had to content himself with the unfiltered world of Internet fetish pornography.


	3. Chapter 3

Bella's father was a paedophile. There was no euphemistic way of putting this – it was the unfortunate truth. His modus operendi was to take advantage of every cyber-boyfriend Bella ever got her ugly paws on. The last unfortunate had been lured to Las Vegas by the dynamic duo, taken heavily by the creepy old Mexican and then left in a skip until his discovery by the authorities. Charlie was notorious for his ability to take a boy (or girl) up the tight virgin ass. Bella wasn't necessarily complicit, but Charlie would beat her ritualistically, occasionally going so far as to rape the unfortunate teen girl, if she didn't bend to his will.

As such, Bella's life was in tatters. She passed her time constantly looking for new prey, her father usually standing guard on the other side of the room with his trousers down, ready and waiting for the beautiful boy to appear on the webcam. Sadly, the last few times he had been disappointed – they were too pubic, one skinny little runt after the other, all over the age of eighteen, far beyond his preference.

Bella received a beating after the fifth one of this persuasion. It was ugly – she didn't know what she could do, as Gaia was only ever populated by ugly freaks. Charlie smacked her first, right in the ugly face, and she fell backwards over her computer chair.

"You fuck up, kid," he screamed in a heavy Latino accent, whopping out his sinister codpiece.

"Please don't," Bella pleaded, knowing what was about to come (as it were).

"I drown you in my semen now, bitch."

Charlie speared Bella as the Romans speared Jesus on the cross, though sadly the feeling of arousal was not mutual. Bella tried to fight him off, but his enormous bulk trapped her, culminating in her final attempt at escape, which was rewarded with a faceful of ass.

When finally Charlie relinquished, he left Bella in a sobbing heap in the corner, covered in their respective secretions. Thankfully, she made a quick recovery – she was used to her father's incestual rape. With a final sigh, the panting Charlie turned and opened a creaky, constantly locked door, taking a set of steps down into what was referred to as his 'playground'. Bella had only been down a few times when her Gaia suitors had been rounded up and submitted to the worst forms of paedophilic torture known to man (or, indeed, boy).

The spent corpses were suspended on chains, above the steel-framed, mattress-less bed, the arrows from which they were murdered protruding crudely from their genital area, awaiting cremation. Dried blood coated parts of the concrete floor, as well as the bed itself, while Charlie's 'toys' were kept in full view over on the back wall for the whole playground to see. If ever you thought of something spiky or phallic, Charlie had it.

"Come down here now, girl," he growled drily from the bottom of the ominous stairs. Shaking, Bella knew that she had no choice but to obey. The doors were locked. There was no escape. Bella was forced to descend into the dark depths, knowing that, despite the immense pain she was in, her suffering had only just begun.


	4. Chapter 4

The Gaia Online servers hummed noisily in the early-morning desert sunlight, as two fated souls typed their serendipitous username/password combinations into their respective keypads. On one side of the world, Kilbirnie to be exact, that same sunlight seeped through a crack in Edward's bedroom curtains, waking the pot-bellied figure, hissing and recoiling as it touched his pasty white complexion. His sleep had been deep, punctuated only by thoughts of that last bout of pre-teen-related monkey spanking. He groaned, still feeling a slight stiffness in his down-belows, before crawling out of his foetal sleeping position and across the vodka bottle-strewn floor to his aging, cum-stained computer chair, feeling the crusty texture as he sat his bare hairy ass down on it.

Fishing around behind the monitor, he pulled out a near-empty bottle of 42 Below and downed the last few drops, feeling it burn his parched throat as it passed. The house was empty, his parents both out at work, his senile, urine-smelling grandmother slumbering in the back room. It was prime time for Gaia.

Across the fibre optics of the Pacific Ocean, the front door slammed as Bella returned to her slum-like ranch house from a hard day of wanking off clients down at the local brothel for a piddling 90 cents per job. It had been an intense blur of hand gestures and mild arousal, though most clients were forced to use a Viagra before lowering themselves to her fatty rolls of celluloid and digested burritos. It was a sad reality that nobody in her family earned more than her.

After microwaving yet another burrito, Bella flumped herself down before the flickering computer screen, her shoulders hunched away from the light of her bedside lamp. Charlie was mercifully out, no doubt hanging out by the crèche she had once frequented as a child. No emails, no responses to her various forum posts. Her nuclear option was Gaia Online, the only place she knew she wouldn't be spammed with bisexual porn and condom adverts.

Her copy of Windows 98 was quite worryingly slow, the tiny processor struggling to bring up the start menu and then taking even longer to launch Internet Explorer. Gaia was her latest obsession, her home page and general haven, and over the last several months she had built up a budget ironically much healthier than her real life one.

A number of new requests had been made, and she scrolled through the randoms in sloth-like fashion. The latest was from Mokashina – his profile picture attracted her, a lean, pectoral-coated body in a tight singlet. His head wasn't exactly attractive, coated in stubble and a thinning bowl covering his angular glasses, but a good body was a good body and she was desperate anyway. The 'accept' button beckoned.

"Hey, rofl," she wrote as her generic initial comment. He didn't take long to respond, which was reassuring.

"Who r u?"

The question threw her. Deciding to be risky, she went in for the kill.

"I lyk ur profile pic."

"Thnx."

Success! However, Bella didn't feel like doing a victory dance, mostly because any physical movement was out of the question and painful.

"U got msn?"

It was a forward question, but she was banking on the presumption that he would have the same levels of attraction. It worked – an address duly followed.

"Im real hot u kno," she added. He would know the ugly truth as soon as they got to webcam-level, but for now he was blissfully unaware of her identity.

Back in Wellington, Edward felt his cell phone buzz. Gutted that his second-ever Gaia crush had to be left momentarily, he opened it up to see that Rosalie was texting again:

"Hey bitch, Rosalie here; in my dreams I lick ur man cunt, ur sweet wet man cunt – if u don't give me phone sex now I'll come round ur house and perform acts of S&M tortur til u can take no more!"

Edward's brow furrowed as the poorly spelt words materialised before him. He'd almost had enough of Rosalie's daily updates – going to the cops would make him feel like a big man, as it had with his parents, but at the same time it would involve a lot of time and effort on his part. And the situation with his parents hadn't ended well – arguing his legal rite to drink alcohol without their consent was in no way easy.

Frustrated, he put the phone back down, hoping never to see Rosalie again – last night's dream had been more than enough. Back on the computer, it seemed that haichi1 had logged out, but an MSN message informed him that he had been added. Salivating at the prospect, Edward pulled up a conversation.

"Sup."

"Hey rofl, I'm Bella."

"Lol I know."

"Where u from?"

"NZ."

"New Zealand?"

"Yea."

"Cool. U got webcam?"

"Yea."

Cybersex was always at the top of Edward's agenda, no matter how repugnant the partner. In simple terms, he was desperate. With a few finger taps, he recorded his interest and was rewarded with a depiction of her webcam on his monitor. She was chubbier even than his last crush, though with a slightly better-formed face. Score.

"Hey," she giggled nervously, obscured by darkness and illuminated only by the flicker from her monitor.

"Hey – I'm Edward."

"Nice name. What're you into?"

"Like Gaia, I'm a total Jap."

"Lol, I got that."

Edward didn't know many people who said 'lol' in common speech, but he found it strangely attractive.

"Ha. So, you wanna show me your pussy?"

"Um … maybe?"

"Wait, how old are you?"

"Sixteen. You?"

"Perfect. I'm seventeen."

It was a lie – Edward was 25, but he was so short for his age that nobody could tell.

"Awesome – let's do this then."

What followed was like no intercontinental sex Edward and Bella had ever experienced. Needless to say that the magnitude of the orgasm was such that Edward fell backwards off his chair. Description is not required.


	5. Chapter 5

Things were going famously for young Edward; the appearance of his goddess had forever sparked a change in him. Every day the curtains remained drawn so as to block out the morning residue from the perfect environment that Edward had created, his so-called 'love nest', created for his and Bella's love to blossom. From this day forward, Edward vowed never to leave his bedroom so that, when Bella needed his aid, he would be there to 'deliver' so to speak. The only crack of welcoming, warm daylight sun Edward saw was the regular visits to the dairy to acquire more Demon Cola, a trip which he would always perform dodging as much of the light as possible, scuttling through shadows like an ugly beetle.

He and Bella spent hours together, whether it was fapping off to each other in front of the webcam or talking over the phone. As the midnight cybersex sessions had become frequent, Edward's room smelt of week-old ejaculate and angst. He had just won this week's auction on Gaia and got his hands on the collectable, at the expense of $200 of his mother's hard-earned cash. Yes, everything seemed perfect in Edward's life, expect for one diabolical figure in his blissful existence: Rosalie Jurtha.

The first text had arrived in Edward's inbox at precisely 1:35 PM on a Thursday. He remembered that day well – it was a foreshadowing of the snowy Armageddon that was to follow. Oblivious to the laughing 6th Formers, Edward hurriedly opened his phone, expecting a text from his mother that informed him that it was time to put away the leopard spandex and stop fapping off to small children. Instead, he flipped open his Motorolla to see "hey bitch, Rosalie here" seemingly grinning back at him from the screen. It was an anonymous number. Puzzled, Edward replied, "who is this?" to which the reply came, "I've been thinking about jizzing all over u." From then onwards, frequent texts had appeared on his phone, threatening different acts of rape and sexually explicit material.

Then the dreams began. Edward always woke up dripping with sweat and jumped out of bed, pushing the various energy drink cans off his bed. There was only one thing that could calm him down: Gaia. But tonight, little did Edward know that he would have the worst dream yet.

Edward typed to his various Gaia Online friends when the phone let off a violent buzzing. Signing out, opening up the phone, knowing that once again Robbie had texted him under the alias Rosalie Jurtha. These hourly updates were becoming more and more frequent, and, true to the boast 'hourly update' as every hour Edward would receive a text more obscene than the last. Every time the phone buzzed, he felt that familiar twitch of insanity in the back of his head. But Edward had no time to sit here and ponder upon the enigma that was Rosalie Jurtha; it was time for his cybersex. He grabbed his dick and double-clicked into his chat box with Bella, where she was also ready for action with _all_ her junk out.

After coating his brand new computer chair in a fresh veneer of jungle juice, Edward, who was utterly spent, crawled back into bed and entered a quiet reverie about the intense night that he had just experienced.

All of a sudden, two wooden twig-like arms extended out from beneath their hiding space under the bed. Edward squealed like a stuck pig as the diamond-sharp claws caught him in a kung fu grip and pulled him into the unknown.

His twig-like arms pulled and scratched at Edward's sensitive bell-end and twirled it round like a cheerleader does a baton. Edward felt like his phallus was about to be torn off like rabid dogs tear meat from the bone.

Edward desperately clawed at Rosalie's rifling wooden arms, trying to break them off, but his subconscious prevented it.

"Have a taste of my yellow snocone, bitch!" Rosalie cackled, rather maniacally. Edward screamed hysterically as the green liquid substance entered his mouth and bathed his face repugnantly. Rosalie always carried chains, and straps, just for such an eventuality. Giggling sadistically, the figment of his imagination thought it was time to destroy Edward's virility. With a muffled scream, Edward felt his balls being squeezed hard, like some form of weird foreplay for the imaginary beast. Then came the chains.

Rosalie used a clip to secure the genitalia, attaching the other end to the back of his dilapidated monster truck. They were on a gravel road, and Edward's clothes had somehow disappeared. He tried to scream, but one of Rosalie's trademark ball-gags stopped it from issuing. The spirit jumped into the driver seat, Edward feeling the vibrations of the revving engine coming right down the taught chain.

As the truck pumped into life, he screamed as he felt the clips pulling an enormous chunk of his masculinity clean off. He tried to tell himself that it was all a dream, a crazy figment of his imagination, but he still felt the pain, so real as the blood spurted from the gaping wound where his manhood had once stood proud.

Reality returned soon thereafter, and Edward breathed a sigh of relief, feeling himself soaking in a pool of his own sweat. He felt his genitals, expecting to come into contact with a bleeding wound, but instead all he felt was a slightly stiffened piece of meat. Exhausted from the psychological attack, he decided to turn to his favourite artist: Cunty McCunt. Returning to the computer chair, he brought up iTunes and selected McCunt from a long list of J-pop and Emo homosexuality. The experimental music boomed as Edward downed the last of his cheap Chinese whiskey, needing to wash out Rosalie with yet more alcohol. Bella was offline – he was alone.

Still feeling as if his man- piece had been tugged like none before, Edward was at a loss at what to do. He had already thrown away any connections he had to any 'real' person in the world outside Gaia. Things had been hot and tense between him and Bella and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be soaring on his way to Las Vegas (of course at Bella's expense, as every other overseas 'girlfriend' had). He would show the world not to laugh at him. Although Edward did not have Bella online, he still had the next best thing, He opened up his 'homework' folder to his favourite pictures of small cartoon children being torn to pieces naked by a bulging spindly tentacle, Edward unzipped his pants and began the somewhat familiar routine hand gestures.


	6. Chapter 6

Carlisle logged on to Bebo to perform his hourly check-up, the title 'Carlisle in Chains' (his scene name perfect for grabbing attention) coming up. He had just coated his hair in a fresh layer of black hair dye and was anxious to start taking pictures. Carlisle was a scene kid. He made it his life's mission to broadcast himself on any social networking site that could be thought of, this including Gaia. It made him smile with glee to receive comments such as "your hawt" and "do me" from people he didn't know, but this was exactly what he wanted.

Carlisle did not give so much as a flying fuck about other people and his world orbited around himself – no room could contain his ego. His trophy girlfriend sat on his bed combing her hair. Little did Carlisle know Kelsey Katastrophe was in it for the attention as much as Carlisle was; she knew the best way to get started was to date a shallow, single minded, arrogant and vain bebo star such as Carlisle.

Carlisle often took it upon himself to make the lives of less attractive people a living hell, and Edward was one of those unfortunate life-losers. After struggling to fit on his aggressively tight jeans Carlisle made his way to msn to begin his verbal berating of Edward, who considered him a friend for some reason, even though every conversation they had involved nothing but direct verbal abuse.

Edward was halfway through his daily dose of smut-provoked frapping when a message appeared on his MSN from Carlisle, the freak kid who sometimes talked to him (though practically nobody else did).

" Hey fag howzit?" appeared on Edward's screen, Edward decided that he was going to play it cool and replied, "not much." Edwards chosen emo persona failed in comparison to the real one sitting on the other side of the screen.

Looking at the clock, and seeing that it was almost three, Edward quickly closed his laptop leaving Carlisle to his work as he rushed down to the play ground binoculars in hand as kindergarten was over, wearing a leather trench coat and mirrored sunglasses, a plastic bag filled with lollies peeking out over the edge of the deep pocket.

Taking up his customary position atop the slide of Kilbirnie Creche, Edward withdrew the binoculars and scoped the vulnerable, pink-cheeked (in more than one respect) kids, though unfortunately the parents beat Edward to the punch. It was time to drown his sorrows in his old friend Demon.

Carlisle was disgusted, Kelsey had gone home leaving him bored at his house and to make matters worse Edward had just suddenly signed off. Carlisle let off a cry of frustration, almost sexual, as he brooded on how much attachment he really had to this loser. Frustrated, Carlisle decided to let off some 'steam' with a good old-fashioned wankathon. Having discovered his father's old collection of (slightly disturbing) '50s porn in the attic inside a trunk that contained more than just said pornography, he rolled his chair over to his over-stuffed underwear draw and withdrew it from beneath a crusty old pair of Y-fronts he sometimes used for his own amusement. Unbuckling his oversized, disproportional belt (which read 'Parental Advisory Required', an innocent come-on that had in fact inexplicably attracted Kelsey when first they met), he commenced the sausage beating, a rush of blood signalling the end of his repressed sexual tension. (Kelsey was, as it happened, a Catholic so they had not actually done the beast … yet).

Breathing a sigh of relief, Carlisle reclined in his chair as the fold out of 'Betsy the Big Breasted Whore' spread her legs in front of him. He found the some what unintelligent figure attractive. Now came the tricky part: the clean-up. However, today he decided to leave that for his mum to deal with as he had bigger fish to fry. Reminiscing for a moment, feeling relaxed from the released tension, he thought back to the day he had met Kelsey, who was another emo scenester and frequented the same raves he did. Following from his suicidal, bulimic ex (who went by the nickname of Sarah Sprinkles but never told her real name), she was a breath of fresh air, a real go-girl who approved of his excessive drinking habits and sexual ambiguity (for appearance's sake they were a true BF/GF combo, though Carlisle was still having trouble deciding between chocolate and vanilla deep down).

The rave had been one of the best in his history as a Manners-inhabiting cool kid, hot and sweaty on a summer night, just how he liked it. He had been attracted to Kelsey at first because he thought she was a tranny, but on closer inspection he had reached an epiphany – why not go out with her just to impress his friends? The plan had worked spiffingly on countless occasions, the hormonal teens at school always visibly impressed when he showed them the intense picture of the two of them lying together on his cell. Over the next year, they had developed into a true couple, though Carlisle was disappointed not to be able to give her the Carlisle choo-choo train he knew she secretly craved.

Turning back to the life support system that was his computer, he saw that Edward had come back online. Score.

"Whre did u go retard?" he typed, feeling elated in more way than one as he asserted his dominance over the faceless, pathetic freak on the other end.

"Meh."

"Ur gay."

"Fuck off, I hav a gf."

Not having a comeback, Carlisle clicked the webcam button. It was time he showed this tasteless freak who was boss. After a moment of silence, out of the blue a screen flashed and a wraithlike, spindly, under-nourished head appeared on the screen … but that was not the only head that appeared. Staring right back at him, in all its glory, was the tiniest ding-dong Carlisle had ever laid eyes upon – it seemed almost to be swallowed by the forest that surrounded it, yet it was being jerked up and down in a sporadic fashion by its owner, who was moaning and looking at something on the other side of the screen.

Carlisle felt his world freeze as the cycloptic trouser worm flopped around. Unfortunately the sound was on too.

"I'm having trouble getting it up Jen," the hairy monster groaned. Carlisle felt the once solid walls of his stomach give way to the hideous play before him.

Edward yelped as he noticed the pasty complexion staring, horrified, back at him. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he didn't know whether to pull up his pants and reject Bella or suffer the shame being inflicted on him. Tentatively, he reached over to the mouse and closed out of the webcam with Carlisle, turning his attentions back to Bella's moist, tensing, drooling vagina.

"Sorry about that," he gasped, trying to regain the arousal Carlisle had just stolen.

"Hun, I'm losing the horny," Bella moaned, fingering at the hole with one hand and holding the flap up with the other. "Can't you get it up quicker?"

As Edward was about to admit that he had erectile dysfunction, a meow was heard from the other side of the room, and it was not from Bella's pussy. Longjohn the cat had entered. This he could use to his advantage, no doubt.

Salivating at the prospect, Edward wheeled his chair back out of the webcam's field of vision, ignoring Bella's pleas for sexual satisfaction. Longjohn was used to these dalliances of 'affection' from Edward, who was always willing to experiment on beings other than just the virtual. Giddily excited, he yowled, jumping up onto Edward's bare abdomen, clawing at the wriggling, worm-like toy in the middle of a tangled bush crevice.

It had been awhile since Longjohn had found any prey at all and this worm brought out the roaring tiger suppressed within the small malnourished cat. Longjohn ripped and tore at the wriggling creature with relish. It burst into life like a filling balloon, the veins pumping and bulging against the skin. But Longjohn was too eager this time – in seconds, he had pulled off the first piece of flesh, blood welling out to accompany it, followed by the bell-end. Edward squealed, the claws running deep. Trying to throw Longjohn off was fruitless, however, as the ruthless beast locked his claws into the stretched foreskin. Continuing to shriek, he spun around, Longjohn still holding on. Finally, as he was about to fall over with the pain, Longjohn came off. But he was still clutching to the skin.

With a blood-curdling howl, Edward fell to the floor, now minus a good deal of his masculine pride. Longjohn sat in the corner, sitting down to feast.


	7. Chapter 7

Edward skipped joyously through the field of flowers running toward his love at the other end. She awaited him like a beached whale not quite able to move through the flowers that bathed the field in light. Edward ran straight into her arms but was immediately repelled by the cushion of fat.

Happy in each other's arms, Bella rested her head in Edward's chest and breathed as the mild wind ruffled her greasy hair.

"Edward its get cold here … almost … Rosalie"

Before Edward could do anything, Bella's body began to convulse and the skin rippled it seems as if she was about to burst apart. All of a sudden the skin began to split down the middle, Edward pulled away horrified, Out burst from the top of Bellas head a blood soaked twig almost shaped like claws from a hand. Another one protruded from her stomach. Her voice was as distorted as her skin.

"Hey bitch guess who?" Bella cackled, her mouth not moving in time with her voice.

Edward scrambled back and watched in horror as the carcass that had been Bella begun to seizure well standing limbs bursting off. Finally the skin peeled off to reveal the whispy white figure of Rosalie, stained with Bella's blood. Edward began to run but realised it was futile – he was too unfit.

"Don't go away, Rosalie's here to play!" Rosalie drawled, following in quick pursuit. "I've got a new move to show you, bitch – I call it the Dynamic Dick Slap!"

Edward tried to scream, but his own subconscious prevented any sound from coming out. Rosalie's member had elongated to seemingly impossible length, resembling more a bloated baseball bat, spinning around like a helicopter blade.

Putting up his arms helplessly, Edward felt them smashed away as Rosalie performed his trademark move, smashing them out of the way to reveal the prize: his head. It was as if a wall of bricks had exploded against his temple, the smack resounding through his eardrum like a reverberating RPG shot.

Before he could attempt to recover, Edward awoke, head snapping up, cold sweat covering his whole body. Fortunately, his head was no longer in any pain but his down belows felt as if they had just been put through a paper shredder. Gasping with the pain, he collapsed back into the pillows. This was a new low for sure.

Still feeling the pain of Longjohn's caustic claws, Edward rolled over, feeling under the pillow beside him, expecting to feel the crusty surface of his laptop, but this warm, familiar object was nowhere to be found. Not good. Already having cravings for his online love (and that glorious, endless library of pornography that was the Internet), as well as his lack of Demon, Edward's body started to convulse as withdrawal set in like a winter storm. The gap that used to contain rosy-cheeked kiddies and sweaty 'anime chix' was more pronounced than ever.

It was time for panic. Despite apparently not having been issued a hospital gown, the rabidly hungry Edward leapt out of his bed as Tarzan leaps out of the jungle, resplendent in the birthday suit and with a plaster cast covering the churned-up area that had once been his masculine pride. The hospital was dark and empty, a few moans echoing from the burns ward. His dick still in the itchy plaster cast, Edward ripped it off, growling as the blood seeped from beneath the white fabric, but continuing in grim determination.

A window at the other end of the ward was hanging open, the wind blowing through and whisking around his down-belows, giving him a glorious pleasurable feeling, quite unlike the feral scratching of Longjohn. Fuck Longjohn, he thought. That cat would have to be raped to death as punishment.

Fortunately, Edward's ward appeared to be on the ground floor. Leaping through the expanse, he dived into a bush. But he was not going unaccompanied. From behind back in the building, he could hear feminine voices bubbling up and lights were coming on all around him. The hunt was on.

Before he could make his escape, a head appeared above him, hanging out the window. It was a strangely attractive young nurse.

"Get back inside now!" she shrieked, accustomed to pubescent nude bodies. However, she wasn't accustomed to mauled genitalia. As Edward's pasty, breadstick-like legs unfolded from their bushy, hairy encasement, the nurse let out a shrill squeal, recoiling in horror at the headless snake that drew up, looking as if it were about to pounce.

She hit her head on the window before falling straight down onto Edward's naked body, continuing to scream as Edward's blood covered her pristine uniform. Unfortunately, the anonymous nurse had a bottle of disinfectant lodged precariously in her pocket, which, on contact, spilled right out over Edward's disfigured member, sizzling slightly as it came into contact. Edward's shriek almost mirrored the high pitch of the nurse's.

Not wanting to take any more despite this nurse's undeniable physical attractiveness (it was common for Edward to reject such opportunities in favour of animal or child-related arousal). In one movement, the startled Edward's bony (in more senses than one) body sprinted across the asphalt, his advances matched by a team of hospital employees who had awoken.

The gate was locked, but, thinking on his feet, Edward noticed a thin opening beneath the fenceline. It looked sharp, but Edward wasn't picky. Scrambling beneath, he felt the scraping barbed wire ripping into that which was already ripped, even pulling at his pubes and entangling ruthlessly. With a grunt, Edward gave a pull and felt the wire dislocate, tangling itself in the mess of blood and man bush.

Adelaide Road was busier than usual – it was going to be a tough one to cross. However, Edward was in a rush as he knew the local authorities would have already been alerted, and the Gaia forums were making him salivate. He needed to get back to his Bella, his one true online love who, despite her horrendous obesity and disproportionate cuntflaps, he felt total affinity with. In one movement, roaring, Edward leapt out into the street, right before an oncoming set of headlights.

"Mum, stop!" Carlisle shrieked. His mother was likewise shocked and slammed her foot to the brake. The milk white, naked figure stopped dead before them, his and Carlisle's eyes connecting. It was an everlasting gaze, despite hardly lasting for seconds. He felt that he had met this figure before, somewhere – this weird, pasty, zombie-like figure who, despite his contradictions of every cool thing he stood for, he thought he kind of loved.

Before his mother could do anything, the naked figure had scuttled across the remainder of the street, blending his bare ass in with the other pedestrians. Carlisle missed him already.


	8. Chapter 8

The chase was a bit of a success for young Edward, who, despite the enormous pain still manifesting itself around the groin, strangely enjoyed the sensation of running through Newtown in naught but his skin. Fortunately he was able to scab a jacket off a small child, which he wrapped around his bleeding crotch having got a quick whiff of that pre-pubescent musk he so often lusted after.

Mount Vic was virtually devoid, the cold air blowing down the empty streets and up through the light covering of the jacket. He couldn't take a bus as it would take too long – it was time to run through the bus tunnel. Some kind of primal force was compelling him to keep breaking laws of the land – it was lust. But it was also the first time Edward had done anything close to masculine.

Crossing Mount Vic via the bus tunnel was always a tricky affair – he'd heard various success stories from acquaintances, but had never had the balls to do it until now. Tonight, he was the semi-naked Prince Charming to Bella's Princess of Flab. Feeling the adrenaline pump as he drew up to the darkened hole, he couldn't help but think that it was oddly similar to Bella's. Like a sergeant major's, his privates snapped to strict attention. The arousal seemed to be benign to his adrenaline rush, testosterone building as he closed his eyes and ran, thinking of Bella's hairy black monster with relish.

However, he had timed his dash poorly. As he had barely reached the halfway mark, a set of headlights drew up behind him, blinding the grubby tunnel and highlighting the stacks of natural waste and trash lined up along the grimy brick walls. Scared shitless, Edward made a dive for one of the little niches, scrambling amongst the dead leaves and hobo faeces to make himself comfortable for a bit of the old ham-shEdward until the bus passed.

Having had no sexual satisfaction for a good several hours (least not since the failed attempt at exhuming his latent bestiality), this slightly masochistic jerk-off was one of the best he had ever experienced, the blood coating his hands sickeningly but sexily. His head was still numbed from the anaesthetic, so while it hurt like hell to touch his swollen, infected penis, the nerves didn't communicate with his head and he was left to pull little bits of mashed up flesh off his jobby-jabber to his heart's content.

The bus flew past, the slipstream blowing a few more dirty leaves into his face, but he enjoyed it, loving the dirtiness like nothing else. Finally, having _come_ to climax as it were, he jumped up and ran the rest of the distance of the filthy tunnel, wiping his leftovers on the little kid's jacket along with a good deal of blood.

He popped out the other end, elated at having made it. His house wasn't far now. He could already feel the urge coming on again. The entire neighbourhood was empty, so he was able to scuttle between the street lamps' rays of milky light like a beetle on steroids.

Finally, he drew up at his parents' stately abode. The lights were out and the car wasn't in the driveway – hopefully they were out looking for him. Hopefully they actually cared. But he could only hope. Locating the spare key, he walked into the villa, stripping off the little kid's jacket to reveal the bloody mess of a disfiguration that was his genitalia. Ripping the plaster off hadn't helped – it seemed that it had carried a good deal of skin with it, and the exposed veins were throbbing brutally. No longer having the arousal that had propelled him through town, he felt the pain dearly.

But he had to ignore it if he wanted to get it back on with his beached whale of a lover. Attempting to stifle his agonising groans, he sped up the stairs, sliding surreptitiously into his smelly boudoir. His monitor glowed, the pixelated manga desktop made him feel at home again. Sliding back into the crackly, secretion-coated chair. His Gmail had, in the few hours of his absence, been inflated with spam and Gaia private messages. Nothing of consequence. Satisfied, he pulled up his MSN, salivating as it performed its achingly slow login, seemingly drawn out by his impatience to show off his injury.

Bella was online. Like a dog to a bone, Edward smacked on the webcam button.

"Aw, aw, aw!"

The moaning was awful. He could hear it blasting out of the speakers – the same orgasmic noise she made when he was pretending to finger her wet cunt. The image connected, and the grainy image of his one true love doing just so materialised before his shocked eyes. She was like Jabba the Hutt, but slightly (this being the operative word) more effeminate.

"Aw, Anton, you do that so well!" she gasped, facing the other side of the monitor.

"Jen? What are you doing?"

Her disgustingly attractive fingering was momentarily disrupted. In mid-moan, she froze in suspended animation, her eyes moving over to Edward's side of the screen.

"Oh, hey Edward! You just caught me … enjoying myself. Good thing you're here to make it better."

A muffled voice could be heard coming through her speakers. Venom building behind her slitty eyes, Bella reached over and clicked out of another window, extinguishing the voice.

"That's cool, I'm keen," Edward said eagerly, completely oblivious. Something moved in the background of her webcam image, over by the darkened doorway.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

A husky, Latino voice could be heard. Bella turned around, holding up a hand.

"No, I don't think so baby. Let's get back to the sexy-sex."

"Okay," Edward said dubiously. However, his misgivings weren't in control – right now, all he wanted was that hairy, oozing pussy as close to the camera as possible.

The sex was wondrous pitiful on Mr. Edward's part – he couldn't get his bloody, flap-of-skin-excuse-for-a-dick up sufficiently, though Bella seemed to enjoy the gruesome nature of its injury. She knew about Lonjohn's part in the proceedings, though she didn't really seem to care and even admonished that it was strangely sexy. However, after the orgasm Ms. Bella insisted that he get it fixed up, though in reality this was at the insistence of Charlie (who had a nefarious setup with Bella whereby he MSN'ed her instructions from the other side of the house).

"Edward, you should come over to LA," Bella enthused. "Daddy would pay for it. I want real sexy-sex, this fake stuff's getting _boring_."

Edward was caught – he was actually kind of enjoying this cybersex as it meant he could escape the responsibility of the condoms (as his funds didn't extend to such luxuries, even if his member would). But, on the other hand, a trip to LA wouldn't be such a bad thing, and would give him yet another opportunity to royally piss off his parents.

"Yeah OK. You're not enjoying this?"

"Oh yeah, it's just I need more inter-personal shit," she snapped. "Now."

He concluded that she must be on her period.

"OK, OK. I should go fix up my dick now."

Bella grinned mischievously.

"I love it when you're in pain … it makes my vagina fart."

Slightly disturbed (though he could hardly talk), Edward grinned and clicked out of the conversation. The dick was starting to hurt now, throbbing and no doubt infected. He would have to find his mum's sewing kit.

Ducking out of the detritus of his chamber, he ran down the hall, wincing as droplets of blood plopped onto the just-vacuumed carpet along, mixing with some leftovers to make a crusty red stain. His parents' bedroom was stately clean by contrast, the carpet piled and the bed sheets pulled tight like a foreskin. Indeed, the perfumed musk emanating from his mum's makeup table mixed with his awfully sweaty, raw stench to make a sickly sweet, unholy miasma.

The sewing box was located in a cupboard up above the bed, so Edward made a leap onto the cream white sheets, his blood spilling further out, coating it in a murky veneer that dried worryingly fast. His parents would go ape, he knew this already.

As he pulled the old shoebox out, he collapsed down onto the bed, allowing his wound to seep freely over the pillowcases. The needle was nice and sharp – that masochistic part of his brain was in control now, and he plunged it straight into the flesh, wincing and yowling like Longjohn during orgasm, relishing the pain as he slowly dipped it in and out of the broken skin, inexpertly pulling it tight and letting the last of the blood squeeze out. Fortunately, the hardening seemed to help and he was able to get the skin back to normal.

Sighing, he quickly fapped off the last of his desire, straight onto his mum's pillow. It felt good to be bad as he didn't get many opportunities to defile his parents' room. After briefly considering the consequences of taking a dump on the pillow just to finish the job off, he thought better and ran off to get dressed. It was time for Demon.

The local dairy was open 24 hours a day, to his luck, so he was able to go right in and fuel his other major addiction without a care. Casually stealing a twenty out of his mother's emergency moneybox, he walked back out into the street. Only one slowly walking figure stood between him and his destination. He was oddly familiar. As the approaching figure drew up under a streetlamp, he quickly recognised it as a character known only as Emmett, one of the fags who had been a year below him at school. His face was uglier even than Edward's, huge puffafish-evoking, gruesomely blistered lips appearing like swollen horizontal cuntflaps, suggesting that puberty hadn't worn off at all and was still running rampant around his face. Either that or he'd contracted an STD. His hair was equally vagina-like, somewhere between a curly forest of pubes and an afro, though with a distinct lean towards the former, while his eyes stood out like googly, glassy testicles, slightly bulging and likewise swollen. And then there was his apparel – in an attempt to seem hip and cool, he had chosen purple jeans from a girl's shop as the male ones were far too baggy. The stupid cunt was even wearing a chequered hat – even Edward knew this was a fashion crime of biblical proportions.

"Hey fag," the cunt stumbled hypocritically in a, shall we say, highly-strung accent as Edward drew up.

"You're the fag, fag," Edward growled in an attempt at comeback.

"Hey, hey, I hear you watch little kiddies down at the playground instead of working," Emmett retaliated, issuing a high-pitched little squeal of a laugh as he said it. Edward stared him down in disdain.

"It's better than being a girly retard."

Emmett's eyes turned to slits. In one movement, he had leapt onto Edward and tackled him down into a roadside bush, his feminine, ropey arms fiddling around with anything they could touch on Edward's person. In horror, Edward could see that Emmett was trying desperately to struggle out of his jeans, his milk white, freckled ass disappearing behind the leaves of the bush. Edward tried to scream, but a gloved hand was rammed into his gnashing mouth. He could feel the penetration taking over every one of his senses.

In one intense movement, Edward kicked his scrawny leg up into the miniscule little marbles that were Emmett's testicles. Satisfied as he heard the ensuing scream, Edward rounded on the ugly freak of nature and landed a surprisingly hardcore kick at his bony face, intentionally mashing it in, kicking right at the temple. Blood seeped out over the foliage and Emmett's close-minded brain was scrambled.

Sighing, slightly relieved that he had fended off his unlikely assailant with such panache, Edward leapt out of the bush, looking around for potential witnesses. Emmett's chequered hat had fallen off and was lying between the bush and the pavement – carefully, Edward picked it up and shoved it into a nearby rubbish bin before continuing down the road to the dairy.

After making his transaction, Edward downed his energy drink, the caffeine reinvigorating him and getting his adrenaline pumping. A kid in the villa across the road was getting changed by a lighted window, so before continuing back to his place, Edward took up position in front of a lamppost and performed a quick act of magical frappery – it was surprisingly intense doing it through his pockets, the rough corduroy lining providing a vicious texture.

As he continued back up towards his house, Edward reflected on the awesomeness of his existence. He had everything he needed: hornbag of a girlfriend, a freshly intact penis, hardcore ninja skills and warm goo insulating his undies. At least, he thought of all this until he drew up at his gate and saw that the lights were on.

Edward baulked – his parents had obviously given up looking for him. There would certainly be hell to pay if he continued. It was a tough dilemma indeed; dare he face the wrath of his protective paternals, or was it safer to make like decomposed shit and run? In a moment of psychic desperation, Edward chose the latter. He knew not where he was going, but he knew that it was anywhere but here.

The only option was to wander aimlessly through Kilbirnie – the problem was that he was already getting Internet cravings again, and it was freezing to boot. His paedophilic fapping had kept his genitalia warm for a while, but it was about time he found some shelter.

Edward scrambled like a dying beetle under the hole in the garage, Edward was hungry and cold he wasn't picky over where he should stay. Fortunately, he had come with a bag. He pulled out his laptop looking for an unsecure connection so that he could satisfy his cravings, at least until the battery was drained.

The night was cold. His mother's clothes didn't provide ample protection from the biting southerly, so he made a quick decision to dodge into somebody's property. A house across the road had darkened windows. Snapping the laptop shut, Edward scuttled across the gravel and down towards the garage, which had a small side door. It was unlocked, so he was able to slip into the dank room, slipping between two barrels ominously labelled with a nuclear material symbol.

Edward reclined, lighting up the laptop and logging onto Gaia, looking for action. It seemed that the site was as dead as his flaccid penis, so he switched over to MySpace to see what Bella was up to. Her latest pic was a horrifically sexy one of her in her trademark hoodie, holding up a burrito to the camera, about to stuff it down her opening. Edward couldn't help but wish that his own burrito was figured enough to be stuffed down there too.

A wave of fatigue swept over Edward, and he felt himself falling back into a hypnotic sleep. He knew what was waiting for him on the other side of his conscious, and it was indeed rather Rosalie.

"Hey bitch, welcome back!" Rosalie growled psychotically. He was holding a crossbow today, twice his own size, loaded with full-sized, gently vibrating, humming dildos, the remainder in a quiver over his bony shoulder. Edward himself was strapped up to a table, bare-naked, ass pointed to the heavens. He knew what was in store, and he tensed his sphincter as Rosalie notched a pointy dildo, pulling the trigger tight.

The first shot was slightly off-centre, so hit his swollen nutsack.

"Curses!" Rosalie screeched, notching another as Edward tried to scream through a gag. The second shot was more accurate, sliding right up the poopa-shoot at breakneck speed. It stuck halfway up, continuing to vibrate.

All at once, Edward's strangely arousing reverie was interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. The shit was about to hit the fan.


	9. Chapter 9

Esme the Desperate Housewife had dropped Carlisle off in town and made a few transactions at the supermarket before returning to her stately home, hoping for a quiet evening of cooking and red wine by the fire. Little did she know that there was a nasty surprise lurking in her garage, spasmodically dreaming of an anonymous, sado-masochistic snowman.

Pulling into the driveway, the headlamps illuminated the dank, musky garage as a semi-naked figure burst into life over in the corner. Screaming, Esme hit the brakes and jumped out to confront the strange creature.

"Excuse me!" she yelled somewhat menopausally. "Who are you?"

Edward only responded with a primal growl before scrambling across the concrete floor.

"Hey, come back here!"

But Edward was too fast. Before Esme could catch up, he had dived out the back door and into the yard. She could see the figure going into the house. Curious, Esme followed through into the kitchen, hearing the basement door slam.

"Excuse me!" she repeated, slamming on the door. A muffled gnarling issued from behind the partition. Sighing, Esme withdrew her house keys, inserting them into the lock.

As she pushed the door open, she attempted to duck as an old baseball bat swooshed towards her head. Unfortunately, it was too late and it hit her around the temple, sending her crashing to the floor in a cold coma.

"Excellent!" Edward exclaimed slightly maniacally, dragging the body through the doorjamb as a caveman drags his prey. Dumping her over in a corner, he snapped her fingers open to retrieve the keys and ran back out of the basement, giggling, slamming the door shut and locking it.

"Now, time to see about destroying this house!" he said to himself, thinking out loud. It was time to pillage.

Town was crap as usual for Carlisle, the other emo scenesters all too depressed to party. The rave at Zeal had ended when somebody tried to commit suicide in the toilets because Carlisle had insulted his fringe for not being long enough; the fringe was crucial to the look in emo hierarchy. So, after finding Kelsey and hooking up with her in Manners for everyone else to see, the couple took a bus back to Kilbirnie, complaining about the general shitiness of life and reciting dark poetry about how hard their privileged white lives were all the while.

Fortunately, the bus pulled right up outside Carlisle's house, so he and Kelsey were able to walk up, his hand gripping her scarred wrist, to the front door. A muffled screaming could be heard from within, so Carlisle was weary as he placed his spare key in the lock and pushed it open.

The hallway was coated in faeces, there is no pleasant way of describing it. In place of carpet, it seemed that all there was was a smearing of human crap, worn right into the cream pile carpet and up the white walls. What was worse than the sight was the smell – urine could be smelt from every nook and cranny in the house. It was as if some insane wild beast had broken into the house and soiled every inch. Little did Carlisle know that there was a beast, and its name was Edward.

"What the fuck?" Carlisle yelled, his senses ingesting the fumes of all that is unholy. Continuing down the hallway, he saw a number of his mother's old clothes strewn from the wardrobe, covered in more excrement and some white crust that seemed even more disturbing. The kitchen had been raided, the doors of the fridge hanging open, discarded chip packets all over the tiles, coupled with yet more shit.

"Carlisle, what's going on?" Kelsey moaned, gripping his arm tight.

"I don't know," Carlisle said, freaking out quite incredibly. Over the sound of the fridge fan burning out, they could hear a faint insane grunting from the next room, which happened to be Carlisle's. Half of him not wanting to see the horrible sight that he could preview, Carlisle led Kelsey over to the door, the grunts growing louder and more intense.

Pushing the door open, Carlisle and Kelsey were greeted by the onslaught of disgusting weirdness that was Edward in overdrive, as it were. Carlisle's clothes were all strewn across the floor, and amongst them lay our hero, once again completely naked, covered in what was no doubt his own shit, and wanking feverishly, a pair of Carlisle's Calvin Kleins covering his heaving face.

Carlisle felt a rush of mixed emotions at the more than disturbing show in front of him. He recognised this filthy, weird parasite from both his various abusive MSN sessions and from the encounter of the third kind in Newtown. He knew him as Mokoshina, his ridiculous Gaia screen name, and his face from the crap attempt at creating a scene photo that Carlisle was so good at.

Edward started as the undies slipped off his face, just as he orgasmed viciously up onto his potbelly.

"Who the fuck are you?" Carlisle demanded. Edward didn't respond verbally, but instead his eyes glazed over, much like an un-neutered dog's, his tongue lolling out of his mouth slightly and his head tilting to one side. He made a small retarded noise, similar to the yowl of a chipmunk.

"What are you doing in my house?"

"I killed your mum," Edward said matter-of-factly, his expression returning to normal for no apparent reason. "She tried to rape me, so I killed her."

To Edward's surprise, Carlisle didn't look especially upset.

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's hot, by the way."

"Are you Mokoshina?"

"Yeah that's me."

Before Edward could make a move, Carlisle walked over to the desk over which stood a poster of My Chemical Romance, reaching into one of the drawers and withdrawing a blood-stained craft knife. Calmly, he walked over to Edward and drove it into his arm, ignoring the scream and kicking him in the face.

"Well done babe," Kelsey enthused, running over and giving him a small kiss. "What should we do to him?"

Carlisle looked back down at the hopeless, immobilised creature, feeling that same rush of sexual pity that he had experienced in Newtown. A manic smile twitched on his face.

"We should fuck him," he growled levelly. Although slightly repulsed, Kelsey grinned too.

"Ooh, I love it when you get freaky!"

"Let's do it now. I'll get the toys out."


	10. Chapter 10

Edward awoke, the sunshine pouring through a shit-stained window, groaning as he felt his sphincter. Strangely enough, during his coma he had experienced another Rosalie dream, but it was more vivid than ever, and there was a girl involved too. She had pleasured him more than any other girl had, and he yearned to have her all to himself, but thanks to the Rosalie creature (though he was slightly different this time), he couldn't.

Rolling over, he felt the slit in his arm where Carlisle had plunged the craft knife. It was still bleeding, dripping out over the already dried onto the messy carpet. Then, all of a sudden, he cottoned on to what must have happened. Carlisle and Kelsey were no doubt as perverted as he – it was a slightly comforting thought.

Getting up, feeling stiff in _all_ areas, Edward was immediately drawn to the humming computer over in the corner, of course not bothering to check whether his captors had left or not. Logging on under Carlisle's avatar of an expertly practised webcam shot, he went straight for MSN. As usual, Bella was online, the 'shares webcam' button standing out amongst the rest.

"Hey girl," he said kinkily as it connected, Bella sitting at her computer.

"Edward? What are you doing? You should be ready to go!"

"Go where?"

"Um … I did tell you, didn't I?"

"No."

"Oh. Daddy booked you a flight for today – he really wants to meet you."

A heavily accented growl could be heard in the background. Unfortunately, the angle of the webcam meant that Edward couldn't see beyond the dimly illuminated beached whale that was his girlfriend.

"Who was that?" Edward demanded. The growl turned into a grunt, a spasmodic little grunt, and he could hear that glorious sound of hand on flesh that always got his perker up.

"Um, that's just my dad," Bella said, looking agitated. "He really wants to meet you."

"Oh, Bella, come and help daddy eh homes?" the growling voice continued from the background. Bella looked slightly disgusted.

"Papa, please don't do that while Edward's on."

"Eh, you no tell me what to do bitch!"

Bella grimaced.

"OK, I should go now Edward. Your flight's at one, it should be under your name."

"You come here now, bitch!"

Still looking pained, Bella smiled weakly before closing off the connection, leaving Edward slightly confused. However, he also felt strangely elated – the prospect of seeing his one true love in all her flabby flesh was one to delight every one of his fantasies. Feeling a surge of blood to his dick, he pulled down the pants he had been given and gave himself a quick jerk into orgasm.

Wiping up the mess with one of Carlisle's black shirts, he jogged over to the door, eager to return to his house and pack. Unfortunately, as he pulled the door, it seemed to be locked. Cursing, he decided to impulsively go for the smackdown – this Carlisle character had sodomised him for the last time.

A box of matches sat over on the desk – no doubt this creep was also a pyro. The house was a wooden villa, so with a little encouragement would no doubt burn easily. Giggling to himself, slightly manic, Edward withdrew a match and struck it, setting it to the ripped black curtains. They set alight instantly, bursting into an orange glow, and quickly lighting the window frame. Before it could spread too far, Edward had grabbed a chair and smashed it right into the glass, vaulting out onto the balcony and shimmying down to the front garden. He thought briefly of Esme, who was still imprisoned in her own basement, and laughed as he thought how much pleasure it would give him to hear her terrified screams as the burning house fell down on her.

The top floor was burning fast by this stage, other rooms beginning to catch light, and within barely a minute the roof had collapsed in on itself. Satisfied, laughing, Edward walked away down the road, the rest of the house collapsing into a burning heap behind him.

Before he had got back down into Kilbirnie Village, he caught a brief glimpse of Carlisle and Kelsey walking back up to what was once their house on the other side of the road. They didn't see him, but he kept himself surreptitious as he snuck down the path back to his house. The parents were out, no doubt starting up a search party for him, but they hadn't left a spare key out. Casually, Edward smashed one of the front plate windows with a garden spade, stepping through into the living room. He had to find his passport.

Edward screeched at the thought of his parents hiding it and began to tear everything he could get his spindly grubby little hands on, he had no time to pack a spare change of clothes, he didn't usually bother to change anyway. He smashed the draws down revealing his much-desired passport, opening it to see the archetypal photo of his face – stubbly, slightly rounded, bowl haircut encroaching on his misleadingly geeky glasses.

On a mission, Edward ran right back out the front door of his house, taking the opportunity to take a dump on the doorstep as a final send-off to his hated parents. He could hear the sirens of the fire engines coming, a plume of black smoke up before the crest of Mount Vic, so he thought it might be a good idea to head to the airport as quickly as possible.

He hadn't been cleaned since the escapades of the previous night, so was still covered in shit, blood and Kelsey's cuntjuice. He therefore attracted a number of stares and grimaces as he walked down to the bus stop, though fortunately the airport bus was just coming out of that most suggestive of tunnels. He had to force his scarred dick between his legs to prevent another bout of arousal, though the pain of doing this only seemed to make it worse.

On the bus, he took his customary up in the back corner, attracted to the darkness. The driver seemed to be watching him in the rear-vision mirror, so it would be harder than he expected to jack off without being noticed. Carefully, he reached his hand down into his pocket, awkwardly wrapping it around his piece of meat. It was a cold morning, so the hot fuzz was welcomed as it seeped over his pubes and up his abdomen, sticking his undies fast to his skin like glue.

The airport wasn't far off, so it took barely minutes to get to the imposing building. It was only just eleven, so he had plenty of time. Ducking into the bathroom, he gave himself a quick hosing down at the sink, continuing to attract stares. A waft of shit and piss followed him around the terminal unpleasantly.

At the check-in counter, the attendant looked even more creeped out than anyone else.

"Hi," she said warily, literally upturning her nose as he approached.

"Hi. I'm on the flight to LA – leaving in two hours."

The attendant looked confused.

"Uh, no, there's no flight leaving at one. There's one that's just boarding now. What's your name?"

"Edward ____."

He handed over his passport. The attendant continued to look perplexed.

"OK, stay there. You're wanted on three counts of murder and indecent exposure."

Edward looked over the desk at her briefly before snatching his passport and running down the concourse. She was shouting at people to stop him, but Edward was too fast, ducking under another attendant who tried to tackle him before disappearing around the corner. He needed a boarding pass bad. According to the departure board, the flight was leaving from Gate 22, so he ran over there as fast as he could before the attendant could alert the authorities. A line was at the baggage scanning area. Sidling up behind a businessman, Edward thought on his feet and deliberately dropped his passport before the man.

"Hey, sorry, could you get that?" he said. As the man bent down, Edward reached into his pocket carefully and withdrew his boarding pass, pocketing it just as the man turned and handed him the passport, smiling. "Thanks," he mumbled.

The last people were just boarding as he drew up. Deliberately avoiding the businessman, who was fishing around in his pockets for the lost pass, Edward walked confidently up to the gate and presented it. He had cheated the system and almost felt like doing a summersault as he strode down the airbridge to the awaiting plane. He was a free man.

A sphincter-clenchingly tense few minutes followed before takeoff. The tension was conducive to more boner creation; all of a sudden, he felt that rush of blood that generally signals a forthcoming spray of Edward web spray (just like that of a spider, but stickier). However, the adrenaline surge also brought with it a rock hard bowel tension – he could feel Shit Creek breaking its banks with the pressure of a forthcoming round of brown balls. But Edward couldn't risk getting out of his seat to journey to the toilet, considering the seatbelt sign was already on, so he would have to deal with the moist brown mess that was about to soil his purple undies. Edward now felt the slime dribble down his legs.

A young mother sat next to him in all her trashy beauty – hoop earrings drooped from her masculine, large earlobes, and her eyes were almost concealed by thick liner. Her nose upturned as the horrible stench wafted through the compressed air.

"Um, what's that smell?" she demanded nasally, the personification of everything detestable about Wainuiomata. Her bogan kids shrugged, turning to Edward who was the undeniable source of the eternal stench. He was beginning to go red.

"Was that you, little boy?" Bogan Bitch continued, covering her nose with a tissue.

"I'm not a boy, I'm 25," Edward mumbled, shifting awkwardly in his seat as the pile of steaming shit squelched up against his cheeks. Looking at him with a sort of abject fear, the woman pressed the flight attendant call button.

The game would be up if an attendant turned up. Thinking fast, Edward bent over towards her.

"Hey, could you look over here?" he asked. Puzzled, Bogan Bitch twisted her head, just in time for Edward to grab her by the shoulders and smack his forehead against her nose. Blood welling out, he wiped it with a tissue and cancelled the attendant call, letting her lull back in the seat.

"Your mummy's just gonna have a little sleep, OK?" Edward said to the young kids, who again shrugged, naïve enough to think of Edward as some kind of Good Samaritan. The shit smell still emanating from his asshole, Edward made the constitution to sit back and ride it out until the aircraft reached cruising altitude. He could smell the pungent turd now, as could, no doubt, the people sitting behind him, who were squirming awkwardly in their seats. But he couldn't do anything about it.

After a good half hour of this, the seatbelt sign was switched back off and he jumped up, snatching up Bogan Bitch's coat, needing something to dispose of the mess with. As an afterthought, he noticed a packet of nappies in her carry-on bag under the seat and snatched them up too, the kids still completely oblivious.

He could sense the smell following him down the aisle – like a Mexican wave, each row exclaimed and wiped their noses as he passed. This was a new low for Edward, but he couldn't have felt much better, sitting down on the can to clean out the remainder of the waste still compacting itself around his bowels. It went everywhere. Fortunately, Bogan Bitch's coat was perfect for packaging the smeared pile that had coated the lining of his undies and his trousers. It was almost too disgusting for his liking, but it gave him sufficient pleasure to defile somebody else's legal property twice within 24 hours.

Withdrawing one set of nappies from the pack, he wrapped them around his hips, wiping away the last of the shit with his hand. He didn't bother to wash – that wasn't his style.

The packet in his hand, he returned to his seat, fresh as a daisy, replacing the shitty coat on its owner's slowly heaving lap. He replaced the nappies where they had come from as he still had some sense of vague decency.

Not knowing how to pass the remaining eleven hours of flight, Edward was suddenly overcome by a wave of fatigue. Tranquilised better than a ketamine could ever manage, he reclined in his chair, satisfied as he heard the clink of the person behind him's dinner going straight into his lap, and turned off the overhead light; he needed the darkness for his bedtime fap. He has ready.

"Bella, here I come!" he mumbled in his half asleep numbness.


	11. Chapter 11

Fortunately, the flight attendants failed to notice the passed out woman or the wrapped up shit present in her lap, but, unfortunately, she had begun to stir by landing. Panicking, Edward reached over and carefully throttled her, closing off her windpipe and allowing her to rest eternally.

"Is she OK?" a flight attendant asked as she came around, preparing for landing.

"Yeah, she just had some sleeping pills. She should be awake soon."

Nodding, the hostess continued down, fortunately not going near the toilets.

Touchdown was uneventful, though it was exciting to see out the window into the glaring sun of Los Angeles. His Bella was waiting for her knight in shining (if sullied) armour, and he was one step closer to the non-virtual depiction of that glorious vagina.

As it drew up to the gate, the surrounding passengers looked relieved, anxious to get away from the smell that was still emanating from his soiled Huggies. The engines powered off and Edward made a hurried exit from the seat, leaving Bogan Bitch in her eternal slumber, the kids looking more and more confused.

"Mummy, wake up now mummy!" one of them whined, pulling at her lifeless arm. Smiling to himself, contented with the revenge he had just committed on society, Edward fairly jogged up the aisle, just as a disgruntled passenger was directing that same flight attendant to the soiled bathroom.

The terminal was fortunately bustling, the crowds providing a fantastic escape for plucky young Edward, who knew that the game was very close to being up; the body would be discovered and, unless he found Bella's father quickly, he would be spending the next several years being penetrated in a county jail (a prospect he found ever so slightly appealing).

Passing through customs at as fast a pace as possible, his bag cleared the X-ray machine (despite containing innumerable flavoured condoms) and he was able to cross the glass to the awaiting terminal building. A text had just been flicked off by Bella: 'hey sexi-Moko, daddys waitin by the main entrance'. Smiling, Edward pushed his stinky body through the mass of crowds. Only a handful of people were waiting by the entrance, one of them hunched over like a baboon, but with an even larger arse. Facial hair covered his tanned complexion, which was bulbous, his thinning hair slicked into a bizarre comb-over, dark sunglasses covering his no doubt piggy eyes and an inexplicable, yellow-toothed smile stretching from ear to ear. His clothes didn't suit the harsh LA sunlight – an enormous leather trench coat, which seemed bulkier than his body allowed, the collar protruding upwards as though his neck had something hide.

"Hey hombre," he bleated in a heavy Latino rasp, nodding and outstretching a ringed hand. His nose upturned as he came into contact with a whiff of Edward's shit stench. "Ees nice smell, eh? You pop uno off too early, eh?"

"You could say that."

By contrast, any stench from Charlie's body was covered up by heavy, sickly cologne.

"Me nombre is Charlie, hombre. You get in my van, eh?"

"You're Bella's dad?"

"Si you fuckwit. Get in the van if you wanna see the bitch."

Edward was distracted as Charlie jammed what appeared to be the hilt of a sword deeper into his pocket, though it appeared to turn into not a silver blade but pink latex. Noticing his gaze, Charlie grinned.

"Ees for later – she ees called Matilda."

"Sorry, I don't understand."

"No? Well you'll find out. Be patient, eh?"

Suspicious, Edward's lust for Bella still prevailed, and he followed the slimy old man out into the car park. The van was black, as were the tinted windows.

"You get in back, eh? I got too much of my tools in front."

Tentatively, Edward followed his direction over to the back door, which was unlocked. Charlie standing behind, he opened the latch and felt a shove as he was pushed through onto the floor, Charlie diving in behind and slamming the doors, withdrawing 'Matilda', giggling maniacally.

"Matilda make the good electric shock, eh?" he splurted, flicking a switch on the enormous dildo's side, sending out a shock to the helpless Edward. The back of the van seemed to have been converted into an enormous cage, which Charlie had lured the unwitting Edward into. Clinking the door shut, he continued to zap away, prodding at Edward's every orifice and weakening his immunity with every blue thunderbolt raining down on his exposed skin. As he fell to the dirty ground of the van, he noticed a bunch of tiny, child-like bones in skeletal formation, littering the corner of the cage. Groaning, he rolled over, too fatigued to fight off his assailant. But Edward's pain had only just begun.

Following a good hour of hanky-panky, Charlie let his victim rest while he drove out of the airport, allowing Edward to fall into yet another of those infamous Rosalie dreams. This time, it seemed that the malevolent creature was larger than usual, dwarfing the ropey Edward, who tried to slink into the shadows.

"Welcome back to the jungle, bitch!" Rosalie cackled, sprouting an icicle of a penis. However, it seemed that

the vicious assailant was going to be multi-phallic this time; in one movement, he had grown at least another fifty, all protruding out of his abdomen and sliding around the air like snakes, their bulbous heads oozing with pre-cum, salivating at the prospect.

"I got another surprise for you!" he continued somewhat sardonically. The penises appeared to have grown teeth, razor sharp teeth, all gnashing away, preparing to strike. Then there was the sound – like fingernails on a blackboard, the penises screeched their deathly tune.

Poor Edward couldn't do anything, as usual, and within seconds the icicles had slipped into every and any available orifice, even his bellybutton, their teeth gnashing away to enlarge while the penises that couldn't find a hole simply made their own.

"Ejaculation overload, bitch!"

In one thrusting movement, Rosalie body-pumped forward, thrusting a load straight down each of his inflated snakes. However, expecting to taste the hot, frothy warmth of a usual headshot, Edward was unpleasantly surprised to feel ice, spreading about his body like some kind of viral infection. His howls once again muffled, Edward could do nothing but sit back and take the fictitious creature's load of cold cum.

Cold sweat covering his body, Edward snapped out of his freezing dream, back into a wholly weird reality. Charlie had parked the van and was jumping out – Edward's sphincter clenched as it prepared for another widening.

"Hey hombre!" Charlie growled enthusiastically as he opened the doors, unlocking the cage and getting in as Edward tried his best to hide his modesty. "You have a good trip? Cos the nightmare's only just begun, eh?"

"Where the fuck is Bella? I wanna see her."

"You won't be seeing the bitch for a while, hombre. I need you to come down to the playground first."

Charlie appeared to have fixed a leather dog collar to his victim's neck, which he hooked a chain up to, yanking his boy slave into life.

"Why are you molesting me? I'm 25!"

Charlie paused, momentarily distracted.

"Que?"

"You did realise I'm legal."

"Well … you look like a ten year old, so you'll have to do. Still, the bitch fucked up. I'll give her a good load of cum punishment tomorrow. We have a long night ahead of us, hombre."

"How did she fuck up?"

"She lure her boys to me. And I _take_ them."

Edward froze, betrayed. How could Bella have done this to him? She had roped him along under a pretext of flabby, oozing virtual cunt licking and webcam-spraying, all in aid of the beast that was her father. However, he couldn't brood long on this as Charlie snatched the chain up and led him out into the street in nothing but his purple (and now brown) undies. The street appeared to be in the middle of ghetto suburbia, burnt from the incessant bright sunlight, and Charlie far-from-stately abode stood proud, a tumbledown shack with boarded up windows on the ground floor and bars across the upper ones. As he was jerked down the overgrown garden path by his master (who knew that nobody would call the cops as this was the roughest 'hood in the ghetto), Edward caught a glimpse of a slug-like creature up in the top window, lanky hair hanging over her bloated face. It was his Bella. Caught between her betrayal and his lust for the bitch, he looked imploringly up, like a puppy. But Bella's expression remained blank.

Kicking down his own door, Charlie dragged the protesting Edward down the hall into the messy living area that almost rivalled Edward's bedroom for concentration of harmful waste. Over in the corner sat his love's dinosaur of a computer, the screen flickering in the darkness.

"You like me casa, eh? I show you the playground now."

Still gripping Edward with one hand, he unlocked the rusty basement door, giggling as he pulled his struggling gimp further into the depths of his paedophilic fantasyland. It was worse than Edward could have imagined, containing every 'toy' in existence, from pink fluffy handcuffs to Matilda's 'sisters', lined up in carefully oiled holders on the back wall. The empty bed frame was standing there in the centre, curiously wet, a burst condom on a string hanging above. It looked as if this were where Edward was to be kept.

His laughs rising to high-pitched little bursts of pleasure, Charlie deposited the screaming Edward onto the bed frame, driving a wet rag into his mouth and fixing it in place with a leather strap.

"You shut up, or you get more hurties hombre!"

Edward was trapped. There was no escape. Unable to move any of his muscles against the tight straps, he leant back as Charlie began to strip off, ready to go in for the kill.

"Eh hombre, you like a this one? Ees mah snake, bitch!"

Edward was curiously reminded of Rosalie as the dirty old man whipped out his withered banger, which was already glistening with lube (no doubt he applied it regularly to keep the dry foreskin moist and ready for spontaneous action). He couldn't move his arms or legs – they had been strapped down onto the bed frame viciously. His eyes roamed the room as Charlie went through his pre-fuck ritual; on every wall, giant dildos hung, all fashioned like Matilda with hilts and unnaturally pointed bell-ends. An electric dog collar could be seen at the top of his desk, which looked primed for punishment of any disobedient victim kiddies. Groaning, Edward lulled over, not able to fight the horrid beast standing before him, forced to accept his fate with at least a little dignity.


	12. Chapter 12

When Edward awoke, the world was still spinning slightly, his eyes unfocussed and blearily scanning the dank cellar, looking for a sign of his nemesis, Charlie. His sphincter ached like a granny whore's vagina, and his mouth tasted exactly the same as the time he had successfully sucked himself off for Bella's amusement. Ah Bella, the love of his life, still trapped in her room a few floors above, who had seemingly betrayed him to this paedophilic creep. His mind was slipping in and out of consciousness, but he could still see something lurking over in the corner. It was hunched over, so even his addled brain could tell it was Charlie.

"Eh hombre," he slurred, coming closer and sending a waft of some disgusting stench into his face. "Me gonna go down to the local school and find some fresh meat. You be a good gringo and stay here, eh? I put you on the horse tranquiliser so you're not going anywhere."

Laughing wheezily, Charlie shuffled his bulk back up the stairs into the house, leaving Edward to have his brain melt under the influence of hard ketamine. However, Charlie had made a grievous error in leaving Edward strapped to the bed frame – his bonds had weakened over the duration of the sodomy. Grunting, Edward wriggled his first arm free, leaning over, his shoulders aching from being pulled up against a steel frame for hours, and released the strap on his other hand. He was nude, and it seemed that Charlie had burnt his clothes in the incinerator in the corner – he thought he could see little burnt bodies hanging out the still-smoking door, but, preferring not to know, he turned back to releasing his feet.

Stumbling out into the darkness of the room, he felt his way around to the steps, crawling up them to the door, trying to ignore the mashed bones and dried blood under his feet. Finally, gasping, he pushed the iron door open and, like a tranquilised turkey, he blundered around the house. However, consciousness was slipping from him, reality blurring with another paranoid Rosalie dream.

"Edward, is that you?"

The voice sounded like Bella's, but in Edward's brain it translated to a forthcoming attack from the ice monster. As the slug-like creature, a beautiful but somehow disturbing sight, that Rosalie had become ran down the stairs, Edward picked up an old soldering iron standing on the sideboard.

"Edward!"

Bella's voice had mutated into Rosalie's typical drawl. Knowing he had to face his adversary for the last time, Edward wasn't going to take his virtual raping this time. This time, Edward was going to fight.

The soldering iron was hot in his hand, as he blearily stumbled through his narcotic-induced stupor like a headless chicken. In a wash of sex drive and anger, he could make out Rosalie standing before him, his icy fingers blurry, clasping out to grab his flaccid penis.

"Not this time, Rosalie!" he screeched, the very words escaping his mouth slowed down as his brain tried to process them.

"I'm gonna fuck you like a ragdoll, bitch, then I'm gonna ejaculate into the carcass 'til it fills up with my semen and the skin breaks and it starts seeping out in a gooey mess!"

Edward wasn't going to take this torment anymore, it was beyond his tolerance. Feeling like a big man, he plunged the soldering iron down into Rosalie's supposed manly area, satisfied as he heard the effeminate screech of pain. It was melting, melting, melting …

Edward awoke in a pool of blood. It wasn't his. The drugs had worn off by this stage, and he felt around in the dark of the house for his Bella, his love. Her corpse was beside him, bleeding slowly out onto her own crusty carpet, Edward's lank locks thick with it, sopping. Shellshock overtook his senses as he realised what he had done. Charlie's sharpened soldering iron stuck out of the bleeding, singed hole in her forehead.

"Bella?" he gasped, moving over to her blubber-insulated, lifeless body. Her panties appeared to have been removed in anticipation for Edward's arrival, and, in her last throws of death, she had squeezed out a squirt of piss, which was drying on her spread legs. However, Edward's mind didn't equate all of this. He saw that she was dead, but his boner was still twitching. He wouldn't get another opportunity to fuck his love in the flesh, so he thought he might as well resort to necrophilia.

Spanking his sprayer into life, he jumped viciously on top of his dead love, crying and growling with sexual angst all at once as he heaved up into the vagina he had been tempted by so many times. His virgin body felt a wave of satisfaction as the jungle juice rose through their piping, from his nutties all the way up through the shaft. In one agonous final burst, his bell-end exploded with the pressure of suppressed sexual tension. Bella's cup did indeed runneth over.

Collapsing backward, Edward's blood-soaked, naked little body hit the carpet with a thud. It was then that the pathetic creature curled up in a ball, weeping, the weight of everything consuming him. However, before he could recover from his upheaval, he noticed his dead Bella's behind. It was the hairiest crack he had ever seen, but, worse still, it was coated in dags. The compacted shit from any number of processed-taco dumpings had dried itself firm around her hairs, along with what appeared to be the dried remains of baked beans. Edward grimaced as he saw this odiousness, but the grimace soon turned to a smile as his libido returned at full force.

Grinning weirdly, Edward opened his mouth and stuck out a salivating tongue, preparing to go in for the kill. Ooh yeah, he thought, this is the real gold. The dags were so dry, he could tell that they needed moistening. And that moisture would drip right down his throat. Like a lamb at its ewe's teat, he tongued that mashed turd, getting every precious molecule of his love's excrement. It tasted damn fine, but the only problem was that, as it came off the rest of the pile, it brought with it little strands of her pubes, which caught instantly between his yellowing teeth, suspended there with their little shit tokens, the essence of them travelling onto his taste buds. It was a sexual awakening like no other he had ever experienced, so hard it made him cum again. However, as his juice seeped out over the thinning, ratty carpet, he tried to withdraw and noticed that his tongue was stuck. It had entangled itself in the anal forest, with the shit winding around it. Gasping, he yanked as hard as he could, but still he stuck. Yanking again, harder this time, he pulled free along with a mouthful of pubes and Jen-turd, collapsing back onto the floor in her pool of blood.

A rusty key turned into the lock of the front door. Before Edward could get up and make his escape, the door had been swung open to reveal the grinning face of Charlie. This meant war.

Charlie's grin faded as he saw Edward's figure lying in the blood.

"Why you out of the playground, eh hombre?" he demanded. Then he saw his daughter. The faded grin was now replaced by a snarl.

"What have you done to my daughter you little cunt?"

His anger rising like Edward's cum, Charlie lunged forward to his victim, who scuttled with agility across the floor, back down into the playground. Why he chose to go here Edward knew not. But as soon as he had reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked around for something to defend himself with. Ignoring the knife, he went straight for one of the dildos, grabbing it by the hilt and whipping around just as Charlie reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Ees just you and me, hombre! I win!"

Charlie was manic. In desperation, Edward flung the dildo forward, enabling its electric shock mode, just as Charlie withdrew Matilda, lunging forward and cracking the latex with the latex. Blue sparks were sent up from the slits, mimicking an ejaculation but in fact no less than electricity.

"So, you think you can defeat me with the prototype, eh? Matilda ees the full model!"

All of a sudden, the bell-end of Matilda opened, revealing flames of hell, which spurted out and singed his dildo's latex. Shrieking, Edward fought back, driving the horrible Matilda away with as much force as his little body could muster. It was a desperate situation indeed – there was no way his dildo could defeat the might of the flamethrower. He would have to drive Charlie back.

With a roar, Edward plunged his dildo forward, burying the blue in Charlie's solar plexus. Rolling over, howling, Charlie fell to the ground, exposing his rounded, fatty ass (no doubt where Bella inherited it from). Determined to defeat the molesting monster, Edward disarmed him of his flamethrowing Matilda and deposited it right through the fabric of his leather trousers, right into his curiously widened hole.

Charlie's death rattle was epic, somewhere around a howl, as Edward rammed it in as hard as his puny muscles could manage. It slid right up into his guts, squashing and burning them, and he knew that if he kept it up there long enough, the hated man would die of internal haemorrhage.

"You win this round, hombreeeeeee," Charlie spluttered, the final syllable reverberating around the concrete room. Still determined, Edward kept the flaming dildo stuck up there until life no longer flowed through the dastardly deviant's veins. He slumped onto his own floor, dead, defeated. Smiling determinedly, Edward drew up, standing over his nemesis, finally victorious. Losing his Bella seemed a small price to pay for such a glorious feeling. As a final insult, Edward whipped out his jabber and sprayed his seed right over Charlie's motionless jacket, satisfied as he saw it dry up on the cracked leather.

Returning to reality, he was suddenly overcome with the potency of what he had just done. True, he had defeated Rosalie and his nemesis, but he had two corpses to deal with, not to mention Bogan Bitch, Carlisle's mum and Emmett. He was in New Zealand jurisdiction – time to bail.

Pulling some of Charlie's clothes off his corpse, he wrapped himself up tight in the jacket and sunglasses, picking up Matilda and depositing her in one of the deep pockets of the jacket. How was he going to make his escape? He didn't much fancy travelling above ground as he could be recognised anywhere and everywhere. It seemed a much safer bet to take the sewers. The house was close to the seaside – he had seen a port crane off in the distance as Charlie had dragged him across the lawn – so he had the brainwave of stowing away on a boat. It was his best bet. First, he would have to torch the house though.

Returning upstairs, his pyromaniac urges took over, scouting for a bottle of oil. He found some in the musty garage, opening it and tipping it over the floor in the main house, before leaving a trail of it down to the basement. There was an outlet for the sewerage system over in the corner – he would escape that way. A cigarette lighter was inside the jacket, so he withdrew it, setting the blue flame alight and tossing it almost carelessly onto the puddle of gasoline, which set quickly, flying up the stairs and past Charlie's dead body. Satisfied, Edward turned and opened the little grating to the sewerage pipes. It was time to leave.


	13. Chapter 13

The scungy piping system of underground Los Angeles eventually opened out at the Port, which was a hive of industrial activity. Edward tried to remove some of the blood from his hair by washing it in the stream of excrement and water around his feet, though this seemed more detrimental to the cleanliness of his person than anything. He hoped that the house had burnt sufficiently to remove all evidence, though there wouldn't be any question as to his involvement: nobody would know that Edward Cullen had been abducted by the nefarious Charlie, nobody would check his passport. At least, he hoped not. Already a wanted criminal in New Zealand, and soon to be wanted by the LAPD as well, Edward was resigned to his fate.

Edward vaulted the fence to the port's compound, scrambling up like an ape, complete with rustling screeching, overcome by grief and mild sexual arousal. The next step was to find a freighter heading to somewhere out of American or New Zealand jurisdiction – tough assignment indeed. Fortunately, the listings confirmed that one was heading for Madagascar, leaving in a few minutes. What luck! Edward's primal urges told him that a new life in the Madagascan jungle wouldn't be a half bad way to waste the rest of his pathetic years, so he ran across the port's compound to the appropriate freighter. It appeared to contain fish, which was no bad thing by his reckoning; his own bodily musk was far more dangerous than the smell of rotting fish.

The port was virtually deserted, which made the task of clearing the gangplank all the easier. On deck, he could hear the voices of African sailors hovering around in the distance, but they hadn't noticed a thing, so he was able to sneak down into the hold, making himself comfortable up against one of the many cold containers. Thank God for the paedophile coat, he thought. If it weren't for Charlie's creepy sense of style, he would probably have died of frostbite. Frostbite. Rosalie. Feeling triumphant, Edward reflected on his dealings with Rosalie, and how he had finally driven the demon away. In typical Edward fashion, he pulled out his schwang and jizzed all the way down his pants, groaning like a piglet as the murky milk seeped forth. Lying back, he felt as if in heaven – it was an oddity indeed, but Edward was happier sitting in the hold of an African freighter, wanking vigorously into his own abdomen and reflecting on the glorious necrophilia he had experienced with Bella. Ah Bella, the love of his life, the sow of a sex slave, now tucked in the confides of purgatory, no doubt being judged for her countless sins by God. Fucking God, Edward thought. Fucking God for letting his life get so fucked up. He fantasised momentarily about actually fucking God, actually putting his jizzum right up that celestial behind with all the force he had used on Bella's corpse. The thought overwhelming, he sat back and decided that would be his first call of duty upon getting into heaven. If he ever got into heaven, that is.

Voices could be heard above, which made Edward start. However, to his fortune, they were just casting off. The engines roared and the freighter sidled away from its dock, heading out into a murky sea. Having nothing better to do, Edward once again pulled himself off, the warm jizzum coating his undies and making him feel more at peace with the world.

He knew not how long he slept for, but it was the first non-Rosalie dreamscape he had ever experienced, so he wasn't exactly complaining. However, it was a strange thing indeed to not be sadomasochistically raped by that malevolent snowman; he almost missed it.

Up above, it sounded as if something was going on with the crew. It was a sound he had only ever heard in old pirate movies, and he recognised it instantly: cannons. The American accents of the crew were mixing with some other strange tongue, almost Russian though delivered in a simpering lisp quite unlike anything Edward had ever heard before.

Thinking it might still be a dream, Edward pulled himself up, hitching up his soiled briefs and bloodstained trousers. He almost didn't want to see what was going on, but he went for it anyway, running up the steel steps onto the main deck. The voices were getting louder.

The sight that lay before was more horrifying than any he had ever experienced before. The crew were on the deck, trussed up, bleeding, their uniforms all removed except for the white leather boots, lying in a steaming heap in the corner. Their black holes were trembling as a bunch of tightly-dressed pirates (with funky moustaches) stood menacingly around them. There was only one way to describe these beautiful beasts: fabulous. Their outfits were spandex, large leotards covered by vinyl pants and purple, fluffy cardigans, with equally fluffy scarves. They were also wearing sunglasses, varying in shape and size, but most of them covered in bling and fluff, in accordance with their almost orange fake tans. To top all of this off, they were carrying dildo cutlasses, similar to Charlie's but with added vibrate functions.

"Who the fuck are you?" Edward yelled as the crew looked on imploringly. The man who appeared to be the captain, given that he was the most fabulous of them all, complete with an enormous pirate hat, emblazoned with a 'skull and crossed boners', looked levelly down at the small man, taking in his stubble, his shit stains and his general disgustingness.

"I, my friend," he purred in that Russian burr, "am Captain Longcock. And zis is now my ship, you silly sausage. You gonna get fucky-fucked."

"Not on my watch!" Edward yelled courageously, brandishing Matilda, flame-throwing function on. Longcock looked taken aback, but unconcerned.

"Iz on, bitch," he growled, vibrating his dildo viciously. The flames were now spurting from Matilda's slit. It would take every bit of Edward's determination and strength to destroy this monster. With an enraged roar, he lunged forward, feeling the spirit of Bella permeating his. Up in the clouds, her putrid face appeared, egging him on in his last desperate attack.

"Go for it Edward!" she wailed in her echoic, astral voice before fading back into the clouds.


End file.
